


Lestrade and the Art of the Novel

by pocketbookangel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Books, M/M, Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbookangel/pseuds/pocketbookangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade asks John for help with his novel, but he gets Sherlock's help instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lestrade and the Art of the Novel

“Lestrade’s been hurt. There was an explosion--” before Mycroft could fully explain the situation, Sherlock had dropped the phone and was out the door. John ran after him, wallet in hand. Sherlock tended to forget taxis required money.

“Sherlock, John. Good to see you.” Sherlock arrived at the hospital just in time to watch Lestrade check himself out. Lestrade had tripped on a brick while running from the exploding warehouse and sprained his ankle. Sherlock was back in taxi before Lestrade could even say hello.

“He’s lost interest now that you’re not dead. No crimes for him to solve, I guess,” John said apologetically.

“I've been given the rest of the week off, then desk duty until this heals.” Lestrade raised his injured foot. “I usually hate being trapped at home, but it gives me time to work on my novel.” Lestrade mumbled the last two words.

“You’re working on a novel? I’d love to read it,” John said.

“Really? It would be great to get another writer’s opinion,” Lestrade said. “Your blog has a lot of fans at Scotland Yard.”

“What’s it about?” John suddenly realised he should have asked before offering to read it.

“It’s a gritty portrait of modern policing.” Lestrade paused. He cautiously attempted to take a step forward on his injured foot. “There's nothing out there that really gets at what it's like in the job.”

\---

 _Skilled detective DI L_ _egrand_ _’s habit_ _of_ _truth-_ _telling the hard truths_ _had put his career on the rocks more times than he could count, like the pebbles on the beach, his troubles with the boss were uncountable. Years ago, he’d taken Justice as his bride, but his wives and girlfriends_ _couldn't_ _understood her blindfolded love and never stayed for long._

If the wives and girlfriends knew about each other, Justice wasn't the reason DI Legrand's relationships failed. John circled _on the rocks_ and _pebbles_. It seemed like a lot of stones for one sentence.

 _DI Gavin Le_ _grand_ _was two weeks shy of his forty-_ _sixth_ _birthday, but_ _he_ _looked a decade younger_.

John resisted the urge to write _decade younger????_ in the margins.

 _He rolled over in bed and greeted his early birthday present. Polly, a drama student who waitressed at Gavin’s favourite pub, squealed with delight as Gavin playfully slapped her round arse._ John skipped ahead a couple of paragraphs. After going into some detail about the menu and décor of his favourite pub, _Gavin gazed at_ _the drama student's_ _curvy, female form with a wolfish smile._ John skipped two paragraphs, then four paragraphs, until the sex scene ended, ten paragraphs later. 

_Legrand rushed to his desk and turned on his new HP Pavilion computer, the one with one terabyte of storage and a touchscreen. It also had a built-in camera, which was useful when he wanted to conduct informal interviews over the internet. The computer was powerful enough to play the newest video games, but Gavin Legrand was a man who played darker games, ones with real blood and real tears._

John got up and made himself some tea. Five cups of tea, six pieces of toast, and half a box of ginger biscuits later, DI Gavin Legrand finally made it to his office in Scotland Yard.

“ _Gavin, although you are our top investigator and are more than capable of solving all your cases by yourself, we think you should work with Sheridan on this.”_

_Sheridan Hope, the renowned Cambridge-educated Experimental Numerologist. Sheridan was slightly taller, definitely no more than an inch taller than Gavin, and very arrogant, with flowing dark hair and strong, clever mouth. Gavin used to hate working with Sheridan because the pale Numerologist did not respect the experienced DI’s vast knowledge of London and keen insights into the criminal mind. However, his feelings about Sheridan changed the day he walked into Sheridan's small flat and saw the man sitting at his piano, absorbed in the music pouring from his delicate, ivory fingers. He hadn't finished dressing when the music called to him, so Gavin could admire the lithe muscles usually hid by the Numerologist's bespoke suits._

It didn’t take long before John saw a pattern in the novel.

DI Gavin Legrand is misunderstood.

DI Gavin Legrand has sex with a “curvy” or “lithe” woman who does not understand him.

DI Gavin Legrand listens to Numerologist Sheridan Hope play the piano. Depending on the chapter, Sheridan is either wearing a tight shirt, or no shirt at all.

This cycle continued three hundred and thirty-six pages. On page three hundred and thirty-seven, Sheridan cracks the “Galileo Cypher” and the next twenty pages were an agreeable flurry of beatings, villains attacking Sheridan, Legrand attacking villains, and arrests.

\---

“What did you think?” Lestrade asked.

“It was... I was wondering, Sheridan, Sherlock, they sound a little bit the same,” John said.

“Not really. I work with a couple of Sheridans, but there’s only one Sherlock, thank god.” Lestrade looked worried. “I hope Sherlock’s not conceited enough to think the character is based on him. They’re not at all alike.”

“Of course not. Let me give it back to you.” John went up to his room, but the manuscript he’d left on his bed was gone. In its place was a note: **Tell Lestrade** **I** **am fixing his book.**

\---

The next time John saw the manuscript, it had grown to five hundred and ten pages.

“Lestrade and I discussed it, and we think this novel can provide an introduction to the science of deduction as well as a gripping story,” Sherlock said. He proudly handed John a copy of the revised version.

“Thanks. When you were reading it, didn't you think... there’s something... maybe more semi-naked music playing than in the average novel and the sex, it’s a little...” John didn’t want to hurt Lestrade’s feelings and Sherlock wouldn’t think to soften any criticisms in the retelling.

“I wouldn't know about the average novel. And Lestrade is doing his best to keep the sex scenes realistic, yet tasteful.”

“Realistic and tasteful? More like gratuitous and completely implausible. The wardrobe thing is ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock took the manuscript back and started hunting for the wardrobe scene. He couldn't help smiling as he reread the scenes he'd added. DI Legrand's investigation of a murder at Dornsley Hall became a far more interesting case once the unique geological features of the area were catalogued.

“It’s impossible for two adults to fit inside a wardrobe, let alone have anything close to satisfying sex while locked inside. You can say anything you like about Galileo or reflectography, no one will care, but most people own and understand furniture.”

\---

A month later, six hundred and eighty pages of DI Legrand and Sheridan Hope were submitted for John's approval.

“I see you kept the wardrobe scene,” John said.

“Yes, well, it turns out it is possible,” Sherlock said. “And on a completely unrelated topic, something has happened to your oatmeal jumper, but don’t worry, Lestrade and I got you another one. I didn't think your powers of observation extended to telling the difference between oatmeal and porridge, but he said you might.”

“Why did you...” John’s oatmeal coloured jumper had been safely tucked away in his wardrobe. A terrible suspicion formed in his mind. He ran upstairs and opened his wardrobe. His shirts hung in a neat row and his jumpers were neatly folded on the shelf above. It was far too neat. “They couldn’t have,” he muttered.

\---

“We need to rent a car,” Sherlock said. “I think you can fit two bodies in the boot of a Honda Jazz, but I'm not certain.”

Lestrade opened his eyes, and was disappointed to see Sherlock was already getting dressed. Putting on clothing made sense, after all, having sex in the folly of one of England's stately homes was probably illegal, but Lestrade wanted to admire Sherlock's lithe form. He ran his hands over the parts of Sherlock he could reach until Sherlock decided he might as well use Greg's chest as a pillow.

“You're supposed to be taking notes,” Sherlock said. “This is research.”

Greg wrapped his arms around Sherlock and mumbled something indistinct. It almost sounded like he didn't think he would need notes to remember the afternoon.

“You don't need notes? How long did it take for us to walk here from the house? When DI Legrand meets the countess here for sex, what kind of soil is sticking to his boots? Sheridan Hope is supposed to be a genius who would notice something like that.”

“You're probably right.” Lestrade tried to sit up, but Sherlock had decided that he liked his pillow. He made a small, dissatisfied noise as he was forced to move.

“John thinks you have an obsession with spanking because DI Legrand is always playfully slapping shapely bums,” Sherlock said.

“That's ridiculous. His blog is based on true events, so he might not know it's different with novels. Anyway, what Gavin does is this.” Lestrade playfully slapped Sherlock's arse. “That doesn't count as spanking.”

Sherlock draped himself over Lestrade's lap and did his best to wriggle out of his trousers without getting up. “What does count as spanking?” he asked.

\---

Mary picked up _The Mercy Seat: An Inspector Legrand Novel_. “Can you believe the second book is out already? We should buy it.”

“No,” John said. “If I read another one of their books, I will never be able to look Sherlock and Greg in the face again. Ever. I'm glad they're happy together but...” John had made it to page fifty in the rough draft, stopping in the middle of a detailed and loving description of what Sheridan Hope looked like after he was captured and tied up by terrorists. Sherlock had explained that it was supposed to educate readers about different types of knots and how they could be untied, but John didn't quite believe him.

“Oh, this is a racy bit. Would you like me to read it to you?” The book had naturally fallen open to certain page.

“I'm fine without it.”

“You can see it when they make the film,” Mary said. She put the book back on the shelf. “The first one should be out soon. You will not believe who they got to play Greg.”

“It's not Greg, it's Gavin,” John reminded her. At this point, he felt like he could believe anything.


End file.
